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Built into the cliffs overlooking the Suvan Sea, Riverfall resides on the edge of grasslands of Cyphrus where the Bluevein River plunges off the plain and cascades down to the inland sea below. Home of the Akalak, Riverfall is a self-supporting city populated by devoted warriors. [Riverfall Codex]

A rumor had spread like wildfire through the Kendoka Sasaran and, from there, to almost the whole city, as nearly all the Akalaks spent at least some time honing their combat skills. It had started in the most unlikely of places, the Citizenship, Housing and Labor Aid Office. The humble officials, who routinely processed the requests of those hoping to make a fresh start in the city, or improve their status among the militant Akalaks, had seen a lot through the years. In fact, until a few days ago, they would have said they had seen it all through the long years, as Akalaks and Kontis tended to be a long-lived race. Still, between everyone at the government building, none of them had ever encountered a Pycon who was a Knight of the Syliran Order who wished to become a citizen of their city. It was practically unheard of for Pycons to join and actually succeed in the militant Knighthood, and it was also unheard of for Syliran Knights to want to become citizens of Riverfall. So this confluence of events made even the most stoic of the dark skinned giants pause for a moment.

The Akalaks of Riverfall tolerated the Outpost of the Sylirans, for although the Akalak people were proud of their ability to defend their city against all comers, they found much in common with the mostly human Syliras, and the two were useful trade partners. Still, there was a sense that the Knighthood would keep their affairs and their officers well outside the governing and politics of Riverfall. Now, though, that line had been crossed, and angry mutters began to spring up from certain corners of the city. All this happened, unofficially, of course. No one would dare to offend the Sylirans, and the leaders of the city had to be polite, at least to their faces.

Still, it wouldn’t do to make this test too easy for the Pycon, who called himself Ball of all things. They had to discourage further cross-pollination between the Order and the Kuvans. Besides, the people of Riverfall had their sources, and according to anyone they asked who was familiar with this Ball, the Pycon had a chip on his shoulder, metaphorically but also probably literally speaking. So it was that all this chatter finally reached the open ears of one of the most famous individuals in all of Riverfall.

Woredev Icarvu and his dark brother Lityis were one of the Champions of the city, paragons of the physical virtues that all Akalaks strove to embrace. The two brothers, for once, found themselves in agreement: they would face this supposed master of fighting from Syliras and prove to the Pycon how true fighting was done. After all, this was a city of warriors, each individual having honed their body into a perfect weapon. Woredev and Lityis were the best at what they did, and they were always happy to prove their superiority against any comer.

The two of them had suggested that the Kuvan test take place in the Gideon Arena, but their request had been shot down. It would too obviously have been a set up to make Ball look bad. Instead, the movers and shakers of the city had settled on the Kendoka Sasaran as the location, which seemed appropriate given the circumstances of how this match had actually come to be. It was a public place, and observers would be discretely positioned as if they were simply there to train. In reality, they were there to watch and report the outcome of the bout to various individuals scattered throughout the city. It should prove to be an entertaining show, and hopefully would teach the Syliran Order to stay out of their city.

‘Let me train,’ Lityis whined, as always wanting control. ‘No,’ Woredov replied, as he always did. ‘I can’t trust you to even handle a Pycon. I will win this fight for us.’ Lityis exploded with rage. ‘I can take a puny little clay man! Let me at ‘em! I’ll make him regret setting foot in Riverfall!’ Woredov carefully refrained from letting his satisfaction known to Lityis. His dark brother was so easily to manipulate to Woredov’s purposes. The bald headed Akalak, a giant even among the giants, swung his mace effortlessly, using a typical practice pattern to warm up his enormous muscles. Another mace hung at his hip, but the champion didn’t think he’d need it today. It would be so much more satisfying to take on this uppity Pycon with his bare hands, but the mace was his best weapon and it wouldn’t do to use anything less than his best today. After all, although it wasn’t the Gideon Arena, the eyes of the city were still on him, and as a proud son of Riverfall, Woredov would provide them with their show. Both he and his brother could agree on that front, at least.

Ball arrived early to the location. Well, as early as he could seeing as the location was given to him in advanced. His mount was being a total hyperactive mount as the knight took the arena in it's immensity. There were clearly training and sparring going on, yet towards the back was the group Ball could only assume were the officiating members of the facility, yet there was a brief argument from one, his voice shifting briefly in tone and spoken word, but it was one in the same. Ball seemed to recognize the shift in his memories as something he dealt with briefly during his training.

Teeth... Go for his teeth,. The pycon's lance was bracketed so it pointed up, the tip was glinting in what light there was in the large area, it stood as a symbol for the clay man as this point, this was a test of his abilities... And it was a test with his own hands, and feet, and body. His mouth split into a grin as he halted the terrier and hopped from his saddle, approaching the group was as simple as approaching a huddle of knights with a Weaponsmaster in the Training Grounds at home.

“Ser Ball reporting for his test. I am suppose to be meeting my opponent here.” Ball looked up at the akalaks, they all looked like one another minus the rainbow of colors their skins were adorned, at least from Ball's disadvantage of height they all looked the same – Tall multi-colored targets. This should be simple enough. As the crowd started to edge away from Ball and whom Ball could only imagine was his opponent for this spar.

The man before him was tall and massive – not an odd description as just about everyone in Riverfall fit that description. The mace that was gripped in one hand told Ball this man was not to be trifled with the weapon, the one that hung at the man's waist gave Ball a bit of pause, this man was good enough with the weapon to wield two at the same time possibly. Something I am going to have to watch for. If this man is that good I may have to keep his hands away from that other mace... Or that mace away from his hands. Ball turned his body round in a circle, looking around and taking in the scene of his test.

Sand flood, several are truly sparring but others are darting their eyes in this direction. Spectators? Fellows of my opponents that will step in if things go... Floorbased for their friend? That would be a dirty trick. Ball glanced at his mount, the lance bounced in the saddle bracket as the dog quivered. Well, I got some help too if the need arises.

Ball turned his attention back to his opponent and stepped back a few steps, giving the man enough space to prepare himself. That ws only fair after all.

“Whenever you are ready.”

Credit :

Created goes to Raus for aiding in the photo manipulation, Myself for color and transparency manipulation as well as box code. Character is accredited below

As Ball is getting closer and closer to maxing out Pyken as a skill, I would like to request that in places where Ball is not doing enough to constitute Pyken XP if Pyken technique lores could be issued instead.

Examples of proper XP level for Pyken would be: Ball developing or refining his technique by adding new thing against an actual moving target, not a dummy.

The use of basic skills alone are not enough to accomplish XP at Ball's current level of Pyken.

For once, Woredov and Lityis were in complete agreeement. This whole situation was so ridiculous that it bordered on surreal. The Champion laughed, great booming snorts that echoed throughout the Sasaran as the Pycon approached the battlefield. “That's...adorable,” the Akalak choked out, pointing at the dog the Pycon had come in on, his heavily accented Common difficult to understand as it was garbled by his chuckles. Tukant was his first language but out of deference for their guest, he was speaking Common. That much courtesy, at least, would be afforded to the Pycon. “Is too bad making opponent die in laughter not pass test, or you now win.”

The little clay man didn't bring the stick hanging off what appeared to be the dog’s saddle, or the equivalent thereof. Indicating the weapon, Worrdov tilted his head quizzically. “Not use toothpick? Try bare hands? Good, is massage nice.” Like Lityis, many opponents in Woredov’s life were easily goaded into anger, which made them reckless. He didn't know this Pycon at all, but it cost the Champion nothing and occasionally won him everything. It was actually shocking to the Akalak how bad people were at getting in the correct mindset for battle. He was Champion mostly because, although Lityis occasionally lost his mind on the battlefield, Woredov kept a cool and calculating head in all of his fights, and keep tight reins on his actions. Everything he did was deliberate.

The Pycon may come to regret his decision not to use any kind of weapon. Woredov and Lityis were wearing two layers of armor, although the fine quality of it made it difficult to tell the bottom layer was even there, as it fit the Champion like a glove even as it provided him quite a bit of protection. The top layer was hardened leather, which covered everywhere except his his head. Even his hands were gloved, on the off chance an opponent managed to attack strike there. With the height difference between the Pycon and the Akalak, that seemed unlikely. The bottom layer was a thick quilted cloth, covering his arms, torso, and legs. The cloth was tucked into his heavy iron capped boots, although the leather was on the outside.

Right now, everything overlapped, but there were some gaps in the leather armor, particularly at the wrists and hips, and, of course, Woredov’s head was exposed. It was an incredibly effective defense against both slashing and blunt attacks, and anything that wasn’t an incredibly lucky blow would have trouble penetrating it if it wasn’t made with a piercing weapon. Woredov wasn’t worried about taking damage from the Pycon; he was fairly well protected from anything the little clay man could bring to bear. They’d only get hurt if Lityis petched up somehow. ‘Hey!’ the dark brother exclaimed. ‘I never mess up you ugly bastard.’ Woredov kept the satisfaction from his face and his dark brother’s awareness. As he well knew, it was easy to rile people up. Woredov wasn’t worried about getting injured, not really. Instead he was quite worried about hurting the Pycon too badly. They were fragile creatures, after all. If, on the off chance, his mace wasn’t working out because the blunt force would proper kill their opponent instantly, Woredov had a dagger in sheathes up both sleeves, which he could release with a twist of his forearm. Nine-tenths of battle was preparation, Woredov knew, and he liked to be well protected and armed to the teeth.

The Pycon was eager to begin, but Woredov held up his free hand. “Not yet. Formalities first.” The Akalak slid his mace into the slot for it on his hip, and then pulled out a sheet of paper from his sleeve. Unfolding it, he squinted at the words scrawled there, taking up his mace again as he did. “You name be Ball?” The Akalak transferred his gaze to the Pycon. “You be no Ball!” the Champion declared. Indeed, the Pycon had a vaguely humanoid figure, with hands and feet and an odd eye, with even the facsimile of clothes molded to his form. “I call Blob. That be new name, fit better.” With that proclamation, Woredov cracked himself up, and there was even a smattering of laughter amongst their audience. The spectator who weren’t there to actually train had abandoned any pretext of hiding their presence, and even some of those who hadn’t come to watch the match were keeping an eye on the proceedings.

Woredov started to pace a circle around Ball, partially to keep himself limber and partially to keep the Pycon off balance. “Say here your job be Knight. In Syliras.” The Akalak glared at Ball. “What good be Knight in Riverfall. No value to city. You long way from home, Blob. Better be careful. And better learn what Blob bring to my home.” It was true, most people who came to Riverfall contributed to the welfare of the city in some way, shape or form. Continuing to read over the form, Woredov shook his head. “No useful skills here, I see. Shame. What use does world have for Knight who only hurts people.” It was hypocritical, given Woredov’s own profession, but the Akalak was simply trying to plant doubts in the Pycon’s mind. Much of warfare was psychological after all, keeping your opponent off balance given every tool at your disposal. As he spoke, Woredov sent a thought winging to Lityis. ‘You’re more useless though, dear brother. I doubt even you could beat him.’ Lityis’ only response was a growl of rage.

Stopping in front of an Akalak with a waterskin, Woredov held out the paper. “Here, I’ll trade you for this,” he said smoothly in Tukant, the syllables coming much more quickly and fluidly than his Common had. It was unlikely the Pycon would know what the Akalaks were saying. Taking the waterskin, Woredov took a sip, before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He started to gesture to return the waterskin to the friendly Akalak on the sideline, but it was a feint. The Champion reversed direction quickly, as only long years of practice could prepare him for, and squeezed the waterskin, as he turned, sending an arc of water towards the Pycon. He completed his turn, gave the waterskin one last clench to send a targeted stream of water at Ball, before chucking the waterskin at the Pycon. Let’s see how you like a little water, man of clay. Simultaneously, Woredov released his tight hold on Lityis, who sprang forward, all his rage directed into harming Ball to prove his worth. The water was followed up by a low kick from the Champion, directed in whichever direction Ball dodged in, although both Woredov and Lityis were skilled enough, especially together, to be able to redirect the limb if Ball counterattacked. It helped that they didn’t want or have to use full force with anything, as an attack with the full force of their body behind it would be devastating to Ball.